Home Is a Fuzzy Word, Sometimes
by planet p
Summary: About an OC.


**Home Is a Fuzzy Word, Sometimes **by planet p

**Disclaimer **I don't own _X-Men_ or any of its characters.

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Jazz Granger was a typical 16-year-old teenager. More tall than short, she sported a smattering of her mother's Argentinean tan, and a head of over-stressed fuzzy brown hair, which was where she supposed her nickname Fuzzy might have first come from. Sometimes she was even Fuzzy Jazz, Fuzzy J, or F-J.

She was also what most of the world called a 'mutant.' Or public enemy number one, if recent events of late were any indicator of things.

Her power was the lamest thing possible, yet people out there were willing to hate her for it, and hate her with all their might. She could fix things, plastic things, that was all. Manipulate plastic; no biggie.

Sometimes, she dreamed of opening up a repair shop for all of those toys broken by angry, cantankerous, vengeful, bored kids. Actually, it was more like a nightmare.

But the rest of the world was determined to hate her for it anyway – because when a leg broke off her outdoors chair which had come in a set of four with an identically coloured picnic table, she didn't pop down to the store to buy another one, she just fixed it with her _incredible_ 'powers,' and set the chair right again and sat right down in it, until the next time it broke!

Which was why she needed to run away, to save her parents and her younger sister the shame and hatred and anger of their neighbours and co-workers and associates and bystanders they met on the street or down at the shops or in church, even though they'd done nothing wrong, and _she'd_ done nothing wrong. She loved them, that was all.

Oh, and there was also the little thing with her hair. She'd found out that it could grow – as fuzzy and wild as ever – like an extra arm, but extendable, or, if she wanted, two or three or four extra extendable fuzzy made-of-hair arms. Kinda the creepiest of her set of powers, it gave her nightmares of drowning in her own hair, or being squeezed to death or suffocated alive by an anaconda made of hair, _her_ hair.

Which kinda made it a cinch to decide that the second thing she was doing after running away from home, and finding something to eat, was to get her hair cut – short.

Three days later, she stepped out of the hairdresser's in town, still wearing her school uniform – well, she had gone to school this morning; she'd snuck out at lunch – her new hair short, brown and fuzzy, which kinda reminded her of a nutty science professor, and she thought maybe she could use to scare Trick-Or-Treating kids into proffering her their candy.

The next agenda on her list was to find an internet café, which she did, after asking in a small, dusty, and way-too-cramped bric-a-brac store after the whereabouts of the closest public internet access, and lots of walking, and skulked up to the terminals and flomped down into a chair on wheels. From the internet, she garnered the address of a school for mutant freaks like herself, though the term the webpage used was 'gifted youngsters,' and printed out the homepage and circled the address with a rainbow highlighter from her pencil case from out of her schoolbag, and slinked out of the café to find a bus that would take her to anywhere near College X, or whatever it was being enticingly labelled – a quick peek for a consultation of the printout – Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. _Oh, the enticement!_ she thought, as she rolled her copper-flecked-mud eyes. _Oh, enticement in the extreme! Joy of joy! Unimaginable excitement!_

Out on the street, she spotted what might have been one of her dad's mates' car, and picked up her feet, heading for the nearest bus stop. If the bus arrived on time, she'd be MWAT in zero to seventeen minutes, so, basically, no time at all. Even if that had been her dad's mate's car, she'd be gone by the time her dad hauled himself out of work across town to reprimand her for skipping school, only to find out that she was skipping something much larger called a normal life, oh yeah, because she was a _freak_!

At least, at freak school, she'd be just one more freak, and maybe, when she graduated, she'd get a nice, freakishly normal job behind a register at Freaks-R-Us.

The bus bumped its way out of town, half an hour later, and she plugged her earplugs into her ears and turned her MP3 player up loud. When she got there, she'd have to remember to ask if freakishness ran in families, just in case she ever had to return to kidnap her sister from an awful, unjust fate. She uncapped a biro from out of her My Little Pony pencil case and scribbled a reminder on the back of her hand using just one word, that wouldn't look so out of place if someone happened to see it: _Family_, then dumped the biro, and her pencil case back into her schoolbag and shut her eyes.

She'd be home soon.

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MWAT – Missing Without a Trace

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_Just something lame I thought up after watching the first movie, and then watching that thing about the mouse with the ears who saves the princess from an arena of hungry rats. Thanks for reading._


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